Page 68 of Massacre
Running to him, I collapsed in his arms and cried as he held me tight.
“You motherfucker,” he roared. “What the fuck did you do to her?”
“I was more than generous,” I heard Morpheus say. “Be thankful she’s still alive.”
My father’s grip tightened, knuckles white at the small of my back, as if he feared I might slip away again. I pressed my cheek to his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of home tangled with the sharp tang of worry and sweat.
“Choose,” Morpheus commanded, his tone like gravel dragged over asphalt. “Or step away from her.” Even in my father’s arms, I felt the chill of his presence—cold, inexorable.
My father turned, shielding me behind his body. “If you so much as touch her again—”
A laugh, low and joyless, slithered through the air. “You’re in no position to make threats. Not here. Now choose!”
Silence wound itself tight, thick as the air before a storm. I listened to my own heartbeat, felt the small tremor of my father’s hands, the silent question in his touch: Are you hurt? Are you whole?
But I had no answer. I was standing, breathing, yes, but something inside me felt altered, raw and unfinished, like a wound that would not cleanly close.
Morpheus stepped into the light, the harsh light carving his features into sharp relief—calm, almost bored, a set of keysdangling from his hand. His gaze met mine for a fraction of a second, and something unreadable flickered there.
Lightning struck somewhere beyond the cracked windows, casting Morpheus’ shadow long and monstrous across the floor. My breath tangled in my throat. I watched as my father squared his shoulders, his jaw set in the desperate defiance of someone who refused—would not—let go.
“You do this and it’s war,” my father seethed.
Morpheus threw his head back and laughed. “Fuck, you’re funny. You think I’m scared of Montana or even Reaper? Now choose.”
Standing his ground, my father clearly said, “Baby, I need you to run. Run fast.”
“Daddy, no!” I cried, holding onto his arm for dear life.
“Go, Amber. Tell your mother. An eye for an eye. She will know what to do.”
“Dad, please come with me.”
Turning to face me, my father grabbed my face and kissed my forehead, then leaned down and whispered in my ear, “I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you, my sweet girl.”
His voice trembled with a tenderness that made the world shrink to the space between us, every other sound in the storm-racked room fading to a hush. My heart beat a frantic drumline against my ribs. The metallic jangle of Morpheus’ keys snapped me back to the present.
“Fuck this shit,” Morpheus intoned, ripping me away from my dad as he shoved me toward the door. “Tell those fuckers outside. They’ve got twenty minutes before I send my brothers to run them out of town.”
“Amber, RUN!” my dad shouted as several brothers held him back.
I stumbled into the rain-soaked night, my shoes slipping on the slick porch as adrenaline and panic propelled me forward.The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my eyes, blurring the clubhouse into a haunted silhouette behind me. I ran—legs burning, lungs clawing for air—heedless of the mud that sucked at my feet or the shadows that reached out with grasping fingers from the trees.
A flash of lightning illuminated the front yard, and for a breathless moment, I saw shapes clustered by the fence: men in leather, tattoos glinting wet, faces drawn and watchful. Someone stepped forward as I careened toward them, but I didn’t slow—I couldn’t. My voice cracked as I screamed, “He said to warn you! You’ve got twenty minutes—twenty!”
Someone caught my arm, steadying me. Faces loomed, grim and intent, and a woman—her hair streaked with silver, eyes sharp as a knife—pulled me into her arms. “Where’s your father?” my mother demanded. “Where is August?”
“Inside. Morpheus—he’s got him. Please, you have to do something—” My words dissolved into sobs, the terror pounding as hard as the storm itself. “Dad said you would know what to do. Please do it!”
My mother’s arms tightened around me, holding me close. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” she cursed.
“Val,” Jingles urgently said. “We need to go. Now. King is waiting impatiently at the county line. Ghost and Cash are having a hard time holding him back.”
My mother nodded. “Let’s go.”
“NO!” I screamed, pushing her away from me. “You can’t leave my dad in there!”
“I’m not,” my mother said, reaching for me, but I stepped back, shaking my head. “Amber, I need to get you out of here so I can help August.”
